Tainted Memories
by GayAceWithGrace
Summary: A younger Edgeworth remembers a happy day with his father on the golf course, leading to a trauma fueled panic attack. Gumshoe tries to comfort him. I wrote this as apart of my goal to write at least 400 words a day, but whoopsie I wrote my first full length fanfic.


"The blunt object was a golf club?"

Edgeworth internally groaned at his new associate's repetition. The witness nodded at the detective's confirmation, still in tears from recounting the events of the previous night. While being sympathetic for her loss, the prosecutor was slowly losing patience at how gruellingly longer than necessary this investigation of the crime scene was taking, after he had planned out the day perfectly for maximum efficiency. Not helping was Detective Gumshoe's monotonous speed at which he wrote down new information, made worse by the scratching sound of the pencil into notepad becoming more noticeable by the second.

As his bumbling coworker fumbled for a tissue to comfort the sniveling witness, Edgeworth strolled across the sunny green field, feeling the clearly fake grass under his shoes. Looking across the open horizon, Edgeworth felt a familiar breeze go through his dark grey hair, the temptation of indulging in a memory pulling him. He would often bury such trivial notions under work and planning, as he was not one to waste his time daydreaming like some of his inferior coworkers, yet the sensation of being on a golf course again pummeled it's way into his brain, as he was transported back to his time as a child.

The air around him was fresh and clean, as the grass blades tickled his ankle and the golf club in his hands shone in the sun. The smile on his face was wide, looking toward his father, who was watching proudly in his black fedora and tan trenchcoat, encouraging him to score a hole in one. Little Edgeworth steadied his breath and got into position, lining up his club towards the ball to sail it into the hole perfectly. The sun only barely obstructing his view, Miles felt confidence swirl in him as he raised the club into the air, and swung it down in just the right direction into the ball.

However, rather than the typical 'thwack' one would expect from such an action, the sound was replaced with a horrible, blood curdling gunshot when the club hit the ball. The atmosphere of the memory abruptly altered as the calm rustle of the trees was replaced with a man's deafening, pain filled screams, and the fresh air was replaced with thin, depleting and course oxygen. The sunny day snapped into a dark, cold, confined box and his father's tan trenchcoat was suddenly soaking with blood. The expression on his father's face no longer one of pride and encouragement, but one of shock and deep betrayal.

The scene had cracked apart until Miles had torn himself away from it, and he was back in the cheap golf course with his brow on the verge of sweating. His trembling hand urged to clutch his beating heart, but he denied himself that privilege. At once, feelings of anxiety and stress were quickly replaced in favor of frustration at his own human brain for failing to even have a simple memory without immediate association with his regretful past. Not only was he haunted in his sleep every night, but this weakness of his insisted on penetrating his waking life as well. After allowing a single deep breath, the pathetic boy was gone and the prosecutor had returned to gather evidence, prepare his case, and win the trial tomorrow perfectly.

"Guess what I found out, sir!" huffed the detective, who was approaching behind him. Turning away from the wretched field, Edgeworth narrowed his brow at the detective for speaking so informally to his superior. Though, Edgeworth considered, what might one expect from a simple man in tatters of clothing that barely passed for detective attire, in contrast to him, sporting a blue, gold and maroon suit that established him as higher class.

"What have you found, Gumshoe? I assume it is groundbreaking, for you to rush up to me unprompted in such an unprofessional way."

"Well...maybe not _groundbreaking, _but I did notice some fingerprints," Gumshoe said as he pulled out his notepad from his tan trenchcoat. "There were a couple of them around the carts and…" uncharacteristically trailing off, his eyes became puzzled more than they usually are by everyday tasks. "Why are your hands shaking like that, sir?"

Edgeworth, closing his eyes and drawing a sharp breath, forcefully steadied his trembling hands as quickly as he could.

"Where did you say the fingerprints were, detecti-"

"And you're sweating a lot considering the cool weather today." Gumshoe added, cutting Edgeworth off before he could change the subject. "You feeling okay today, sir?"

"Detective," replied the prosecutor coldly and with warning intent, "You understand who you're speaking to, correct?"

"Look pal, this job gets to everybody now and then," Gumshoe said reassuringly, reaching to put a hand on Edgeworth's shoulder before getting it swatted away. "I don't blame you for getting stressed. Especially since you're only twenty; with all the work you have and the name you've built for yourself, you gotta have tons of weight on your shoulders!"

"'Stress' was an excuse made by fools who couldn't keep up, detective." Edgeworth scowled, not allowing his lesser the emotional response he expected. "Now get back to work." Putting a colder emphasis on each word, the prosecutor walked past his associate to continue the investigation, never once looking back to green, open fields. It would not be until years later he would have the courage to face such memories again.


End file.
